


Hard Earned

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Training, blisters, hand kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Inui’s hand is open, his fingers relaxed in the illumination spilling gold through the window next to them: illumination that catches bright over the torn-open blisters and deep-down bruises that run stripes of angry red across his skin." Kaidou sees proof of Inui's dedication and offers a token of his own.
Relationships: Inui Sadaharu/Kaidou Kaoru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Hard Earned

“This is one of the other common formations.” Inui reaches for the edge of the desk to catch at yet another of the several dozen loose pieces of paper he has scattered between himself and Kaidou. “It’s not used much now. Most doubles pairs gravitate towards one of the others that are easier to use or take better advantage of their compatibility.”

Kaidou makes a wordless noise of understanding in the back of his throat. “Like Kikumaru-senpai and Oishi-senpai.”

Inui smiles. “Just like that,” he agrees. He pulls the paper in towards him and leans down over it, sketching the outline of a tennis court with the quick strokes of habit. “They’ve been playing together for years and have developed almost a sixth sense for the other’s habits. That’s not something most pairs can attempt, much less achieve.” He draws over the far edge of the court outlined on the page in front of him and turns it so the sketched-in net is facing Kaidou on the other side of the desk. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be content with the standard array of options.”

Kaidou looks up from the page. Inui is leaning in over the far side of the desk, one hand spread out over the edge of the paper before him to hold it steady while he makes a series of shorthand notations across the clean white of the page. His head is ducked down, his attention turned to the work of the pencil in his hand and the diagram he is creating with it; he doesn’t look up to see Kaidou sneaking a glance at the idle curve of his smile or the shine of his thick glasses.

Kaidou is grateful to Inui’s distraction. He has had an abundance of the other’s attention on him over the last weeks they have spent training together, and while he is hardly about to complain about being the subject of his upperclassman’s undivided focus it is also true that it is far harder to fight back the self-conscious color that rises to his cheeks under Inui’s concerted attention. Kaidou appreciates Inui’s efforts, finds himself flourishing into greater strength and skill than he thought possible beneath the other’s carefully calculated guidance; but he misses the sideways glances he once could claim without an audience, as if he is seeing less of Inui now thanks to his own inability to actually look at his companion during the long hours of time they spend together outside of club activities.

It’s a ridiculous problem to have, one Kaidou thoroughly berates himself for in the shadows of evenings spent alone in his room with a pillow crushing away any evidence of the embarrassed flush that colors his cheeks as his memory offers obsessive replays of every smile, every touch, every dip of Inui’s voice drifting towards softness over Kaidou’s name. Most of the time Kaidou can’t decide if he wants to go back to the way things were, when he never saw proof of Inui’s attention beyond the extra training Kaidou asked for himself, or if he is jealous of every moment he spends training with the rest of the team instead of caught in the strange dilated time that forms itself around mundanity made magical by the absence of any audience beyond the shine of Inui’s glasses. Everything gains weight and import in the moment, enough to stutter Kaidou’s heartbeat over a glint of light or a strain in Inui’s voice, and even the objective reality of memory can’t wholly strip the gold-filtered magic from those moments.

It’s happening even right now, with the two of them bent over a shared desk, sheets of scattered notations the only wall between them. Inui is speaking about doubles formations, discussing specific strategies and options that are at best incidental and at worst totally inconsequential to Kaidou, who has neither the experience nor the perfect partner to make use of the greater number of them. But Inui continues, explaining the benefits and disadvantages of each choice in his clear voice, and Kaidou finds himself caught, sharing in the interest that makes itself evident in every dip of Inui’s tone as if the other’s focus is catching contagious across the narrow space between them.

“It’s a reasonable tactic to take,” Inui is saying, bracing the pencil between his fingers as he tips in over the sketch in front of him. “As I said, more experienced partners would likely try a more complex variety of misdirection, but those can trip up your partner as much as your opponent and cause more problems than they solve if you’re not ready for them. I find that most doubles pairs either try for more than they are able to sustain or limit themselves unnecessarily to the basic arrangements, when they might greatly improve their adaptability with more familiarity with a few other options.”

Inui slides the paper farther towards Kaidou, bracing it in place between them as he reaches out with the pencil in his other hand. “This is a good example. It’s much easier to convey the necessary information in just a few signs in this orientation, but if your opponents attempt a smash there is plenty of space for—” and the pencil slips from his fingers, the smooth arc Inui was sketching across the page jolted into a jagged angle as he hisses a pained breath past his teeth.

Kaidou reaches out immediately, reflex guiding his fingers to catch the pencil before it topples off the edge of the desk. “Here,” he says, short and blunt as he extends it back for Inui to take.

“Ah,” Inui says, and lifts a hand to adjust his glasses before he smiles across the desk at Kaidou. “Thank you.” He reaches to take the pencil back, his hand turning up so the light hits his palm, and Kaidou’s attention drops immediately from Inui’s eyes to the mismatched shadows laid into his skin. His throat tightens, his eyes widen; but Inui is taking the pencil from him, and Kaidou relinquishes it at the urging of the other’s hold, his words trapped on too much surprise for him to speak. He glances up at Inui’s face again, shock clear across his own, before he remembers himself and ducks away to stare unseeing at the papers spread out between them.

Kaidou’s heart is beating fast, his attention caught by that brief glimpse of Inui’s torn palm; but Inui hasn’t said anything about it, not in the full hour they’ve been sitting here, and Kaidou doesn’t want to push for more than what Inui is willing to share. He braces his elbows against the desk, hunching his shoulders forward against the impulse to stare for another glimpse, to form the set of his mouth around the intrusive questions he wants to ask, to urge himself to focused attention on the subject at hand instead of poking into business Inui may not want to share with him. It was an accidental glimpse, not something Inui chose to show or share with him; the polite thing to do is to pretend he saw nothing at all, however silent-stunned his thoughts may be.

Kaidou is so caught in his efforts to fight back his own curiosity that he doesn’t realize right away that Inui hasn’t resumed his speech. It’s only the sound of the pencil settling at the edge of the desk that pulls him back to the present, and by the time Kaidou’s head is jerking up to stare at Inui the other is already extending his hand across the desk, offering it palm-up along with the smile clinging to the corner of his mouth.

“You can look,” Inui says, warm and easy with a lack of self-consciousness that Kaidou admires as much as he knows he’ll never be able to replicate it himself. “I don’t have anything to hide from you, Kaidou.”

Kaidou looks down. Inui’s hand is open, his fingers relaxed in the illumination spilling gold through the window next to them: illumination that catches bright over the torn-open blisters and deep-down bruises that run stripes of angry red across his skin. Kaidou knows the pattern they form, doesn’t need to imagine the weight of a tennis racket in Inui’s grip to be sure of their cause; and even so, he feels his throat tightening in sympathy for the other’s pain, even with Inui’s smile steady and unflinching before him.

“Senpai,” Kaidou says, the only word he can find strong enough to carry the weight of his shocked sympathy, and he’s reaching out before he can think to stop himself to catch Inui’s upturned hand in the gentle grip of his fingers. He hesitates as his hands brush Inui’s, as the warmth of the other’s skin reminds him forcibly of the unoffered intimacy of the contact, but Inui doesn’t flinch back from Kaidou’s touch, and when Kaidou glances back up at him there’s not so much as a flicker in the smile at his lips.

“I need the training,” Inui says, an answer to the question Kaidou can’t find voice for. “My data is essential but there’s no use to numbers if I don’t have the physical strength to act on my conclusions.” His fingers flex in Kaidou’s feather-light grip, curling into a memory of the absent racket they have blistered themselves upon. “They’ll heal in time for the next match.”

Kaidou ducks his head over Inui’s upturned palm. His thumb finds a path shy of the blistered pain and slips along it, offering the sympathy his words can’t manage. Inui’s hand is warm against his, his outstretched fingers fitting perfectly into the cradle of Kaidou’s joined palms. “It hurts.”

Inui inclines his head. “A little,” he says, and Kaidou recognizes the understatement in that but doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t slow the drag of his thumb caressing the side of Inui’s hand. “Most training isn’t entirely pleasant, at least in the moment.”

Kaidou takes a breath and steadies himself. “I want to—”

“No.” Inui’s tone is as gentle as it always is, as kind as his smile and as unflinching as the glare on his glasses. Kaidou lifts his gaze to find Inui watching him, his expression still soft but his mouth taut on absolute certainty. “You have your own training to do. If you try to add mine on top of it you’ll end up with an injury, possibly a serious one. Stick with what you’re doing.” He lifts his other hand to reach across the desk; his palm lands heavy and certain at Kaidou’s shoulder. “This way we’ll both be at our best when we next play together.”

Kaidou’s throat clenches tight as a fist, choking away any hope he might have had of answer in a knot of sudden, sharp emotion. It’s not that he didn’t understand Inui’s plan for his future; they’re not going over doubles formations as a purely theoretical exercise, after all. But after playing his last two matches with Inui watching from the stands instead of on the court behind him Kaidou couldn’t help but doubt his own hopes, couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Inui had changed his mind, had found someone better, had decided he wants to play alone instead. To have Inui smiling at him from across the distance of a desk, his palm criss-crossed with the blisters of a training as arduous as Kaidou’s own, sweeps aside all Kaidou’s uncertainty so immediately he is left breathless and speechless, tethered to reality only by the gentle hold of his hands on Inui’s between them.

The silence is going long. Inui is still smiling at Kaidou, his head tilted very slightly to the side and his glasses blazing impenetrably white as ever; and Kaidou’s throat is fixed to silence, his lips parted and tongue as still as his ringing thoughts. He must answer, must reply, must give some sign of the grateful appreciation that has risen to choke out any chance of response he might offer; and he can find nothing, can do nothing as his hands tighten at the edges of Inui’s palm. He looks down again, retreating from the glow of the other’s attention to the proof of painful effort striping his skin; and Kaidou ducks forward, his head bowing itself to submission over Inui’s wrist.

There are blisters all across the other’s hand, torn skin flaring red to protest the idea of contact; so Kaidou goes higher, lifting his chin so he can touch his mouth to the unbroken pale just below the angle of Inui’s wrist. It’s barely a kiss, hardly more than the weight of Kaidou’s parted lips crushing to Inui’s skin; but Kaidou feels the shiver of heat against his mouth, hears the catch of Inui’s breathing pulling taut on an inhale over his head. He lingers for a moment, Inui’s palm between his hands and his mouth pressing to the crease of the other’s wrist, before he lifts his head and speaks, spilling the low force of his words into the cup of Inui’s fingers.

“Win your next game,” Kaidou says, half a command and half a plea and the whole weighted with a desperation he can no more resist than he can understand. His fingers tighten; he ducks his head lower. “Win, senpai.”

Inui’s hand at his shoulder lifts, drawing away from the weight it has been pressing to Kaidou’s shirt to touch to the top of his head, to slide across the smooth of his bandana and back to cradle the knot of fabric at the back of his head.

“I will,” Inui says. His little finger slides down to brush across Kaidou’s hair and fit to the soft space at the very back of his head. “Kaidou.”

Kaidou shuts his eyes, and lets his breath go, and lets the promise of Inui’s touch glow certainty through him.


End file.
